The Other Chosen
by thathottrekkiechick
Summary: A few chapters following Draco's journey through The Half-Blood Prince. Draco/Pansy Please Please Review or I will become quite displeased!
1. Chapter 1

Draco skulked along the edge of the road, slick with icy sludge, that lead down to the village, hand in pocket, clutching the worn wooden handle of his wand. He could've easily Apparated there, but he wanted the walk…the anger dispelled…

Mother was being absolutely ridiculous. This was an important opportunity -no- an honor. A privilege. A chance to prove himself. To show…everyone…that he could do this, that he had what it took. To…help his father? To save him? To get him out of that place? Maybe that would make mother sleep at night, make her stop staring at the walls.

Draco looked up from the muddied snow. He had reached the village. He strolled through the labyrinthine, stone-paved streets, glossed over with frost. Flakes of snow swirled around him, clinging to the high collar of his black woolen pea-coat, and settling in the strands of glossy white hair that settled over his rain water-gray eyes. He turned a corner and entered Twilfitt and Tatting's robes shop.

A cheerful bell tinkled as the large, glossy door closed behind him. It did not suit the atmosphere of the room. The tall, thin woman stacking bolts of cloth on a shelf met Draco's haughty, challenging stare appraisingly.

"I need new black dress robes," he stated simply.

He had always felt entitled, naturally, but it was different now; now he felt…empowered. He could command now, truly command everyone. By midnight he would have the Mark, and with it the authority. 'Mother just doesn't understand', he thought firmly as he walked back out into the snow with the robes, wrapped in green silk, tucked under his arm. 'She has never been given this chance, she can't possibly know how it will feel to serve him this way.' Draco immediately regretted even thinking this. He leaned against a cold, black stone wall, watching the snow fall. With father gone to…to Azkaban… he knew exactly how she felt: vacant. Helpless. At the mercy of… It was Potter's fault. It was Potter that had landed his father in prison. Potter that had locked the cage shut. Potter with his ideals, and his heroic deeds, and his friends. Draco brushed a snowflake from his white eyelashes and Apparated back to his manor.

It was his manor now, wasn't it…with father gone, he was the man of the house. Draco had hoped it would've felt…well better than this. It was a weight that pressed, cold and leaden, against his chest. He pushed back his hair, kicked off his galoshes, and reminded himself of the honor of the task ahead - of the day when his father would come back.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco ascended the elegantly curved white marble staircase, passing the chandelier, up to the third floor corridor. He pushed open his bedroom door and threw the dress robes and his coat on the king size canopy bed, crossing the spacious room in a few strides.

The wood paneled walls, floors, and emerald green drapes gave the place a dark, forest-like ambience. The only source of light was the huge window, spilling a chilly glow over the green bedspread. Draco lit the ornate golden lamps with a flick of his wand and glanced down at his desk beside the window. A small, lilac-hued envelope was obstructing the glossy finish of the wood. Draco's eyes narrowed. He took the letter and leaned against the window, examining the elaborate cursive. "Mr. Draco Malfoy, Malfoy Manor, The Top Left Bedroom."

He opened the letter with the point of his wand and unfolded the soft, purple parchment. As he did so, a tiny cloud of shimmering pink dust burst from the script and drifted upwards. Draco blinked. He couldn't make out the words, everything….had become….fuzzy…a warm, sweet scent like…whipped cream and…lavender oil enveloped him, hugging him gently…

Draco sneezed, shaking his head. He smoothed the letter between his fingers.

"My Dearest Draco,

Even though its only been a few hours, I already miss you more than I can say. Last night was wonderful, I'm sorry I couldn't have stayed longer, but I must start packing for Hogwarts (damn school always seems to interrupt us, eh?). I hope that you are feeling better about your father. I know this must be very hard for you. I want you to know that I am here to talk about anything, sweet. Send me an owl anytime you need. I look forward to seeing you next week. Will meet you on the train.

Au Revoir Mon Amour,

Pansy"


	3. Chapter 3

Draco stared down at the parchment, memories of the previous night coming back in fragments. Pansy seemed to think they were in some kind of relationship. Draco wasn't entirely sure what this relationship was supposed to be…but that wasn't important now. What was important was preparing for tonight. He tossed the letter back on the desk and shut the heavy emerald drapes around the window and sat at the foot of his bed, changing into the new robes.

"Dinner, Murk," Draco commanded as the house elf passed his door. "Yes, Master Draco," came the elf's reply from the corridor. Draco stood and wrenched the door open. "You call me Mister Malfoy, elf," he bore down on the cowering creature. "Yes, Mister Malfoy," squeaked Murk before scurrying down the hall. Draco closed the door and resumed dressing. He had thought that might have helped assuage the anxiety building up in his stomach, and the weight of his father's absence still on his chest. All it made him feel was a cold burning in his veins. He concentrated on the night ahead.

Mother walked at his left side, Aunt Bella at his right. He was now taller than both of them, yet Mother seemed to shrink even farther away, and Bella seemed to surpass him. Draco was silent as Bella continued on her rant about the Dark Lord's magnitude, and how proud she was of her dear nephew. They marched deeper down the long, narrow corridor. A small shaft of light was growing until it became the gap in a door, opened by a Death Eater, masked and robed. Draco met the black eyes with his gray, keeping his head high. He stepped into the round, dimly lit room, very aware of the smell of blood.

He stood in the center of the circle, under the shaft of moonlight beaming down from a circular window. The others surrounded him, Aunt Bella hurried to join him, Mother stayed. Draco felt her hand grasp his wrist. He gently pulled it away. The high, cold voice rang through the room.

"Come here boy." Draco obeyed, his gaze locked on the frozen ground beneath him. He was numb with cold now. He could feel Voldemort's eyes boring into him. He took a breath, held it, and looked up into those eyes. "Draco Malfoy," his voice was soft but clear as he addressed the crowd. "The youngest wizard ever to join our ranks." Voldemort looked down at the slight boy. "How does it feel, Draco?" he asked, a hint of a sneer in his tone.

Draco lowered his eyes again. "Honorable beyond comprehension, My Lord," he said, flushing as his words barely came out. He saw Bella beaming at him from Voldemort's side.

"Hold out your arm, Draco," Voldemort whispered, a small, cruel smile curving his lipless mouth.

Draco suddenly remembered to breathe. He slowly pushed back his left sleeve, forcing his hands to stop shaking. Voldemort drew his thin white wand from the folds of his cloak; with that simple movement, it seemed that the air had been sucked from the room. The only sound was a soft rustling as Voldemort took Draco's wrist in his strong, tapered fingers. Draco's eyes were fixed to the wand; he didn't dare move, for fear the strength he had built up within himself would crumble. He tried to push away the cold, tried to remember his father, his father, the reason for all this.

Time itself seemed to freeze as Voldemort brought the point of his wand to Draco's arm. He pressed until the white skin broke and blood bloomed, vivid crimson. Even as it was spilt, the blood rushed back into the wound, and with it a thin, black vapor trailing from the wand. Draco bit the inside of his lip as an agony like nothing he had ever experienced shot up through his veins and rushed down to his bones, a bitter, burning frost that permeated the weight on his chest, that sank through the thoughts of his father and ripped them apart. Draco fought to stand as the black-tainted blood flared up to the under side of his skin, curving and twisting, and his whole body screamed – then was silent.

Voldermort released his arm, red eyes staring heartlessly down at Draco. The boy swayed, almost imperceptibly. "Congratulations, Draco," he said, his cruel smile returning. "Your father would be so proud."


	4. Chapter 4

Draco sat on the emerald velvet couch, head in hands, staring at the open book on the table before him. Slughorn had assigned some sort of reading work over the Christmas holiday. He hadn't done it of course, but he knew that if he didn't start working, Dumbledore would scold him again. He wasn't a child - he just didn't see the point in this shit when he could be spending his whole day working…Voldemort had sent Death Eaters twice now, checking up on him, asking him to use the cabinet, berating him when he could not.

Draco stared into the fire opposite the couch, the flames dazzling in the greenish darkness of the common room. He had thought it would've been easy. Nothing was ever so difficult…not for him. This wasn't easy. This was a pressure he had never known, a force that followed him to all his classes, to every meal and every break. He had thought his father…would be alright now – Voldemort would see how hard Draco was working and release father.

Soft, muffled footsteps broke into his thoughts. He looked up at Pansy, standing at the arm of the couch, gazing at him. Her short black hair fell in a smooth curtain over her left eye. Though it was late into the night, she was still in her gray skirt and white button down, the Slytherin tie dangling sideways.

"Draco?" her voice was gentle under the crackling of the fire. He put up his best smirk, hoping it would fool her – or at least amuse her. She smiled with a soft scoff: the latter. Pansy flopped down on the cushions beside him, tucking her hair behind her diamond-studded ear. She glanced at the book, then closed it and leaned back into the couch, studying him sideways. "You weren't in class again today, Draco," she said.

"You're awfully observant, Ms. Parkinson," Draco replied, pushing back a stray cluster of hair from his eyes. He wished she would go away, yet he didn't want her to leave.

"What's bothering you, sweet?" she asked soothingly, shifting closer to him and undoing the tight collar of his shirt. "Nothing," was his short answer. "Draco," she cooed, kissing his cheek, then the exposed skin of his neck. "Tell me what's wrong." Draco clasped her small hand in his. He didn't speak, but let her kiss his mouth until his mind was quiet. She slipped her hand down between the buttons on his shirt until it fell open and she kissed him again. Her fingers trailed across his chest, up his shoulder and down his arm, pulling away the cotton. Draco laid his hand on her waist, reveling in the lavender scent of her hair, the softness of her lips, the…love that emanated from Pansy. Her fingers brushed up under his left sleeve. Pain erupted from under his skin and a high, cold scream that was not his echoed in his head.

Draco opened his eyes, the Mark still flaring like a match about to go out. Pansy was staring at him. "Draco…what is it? What was that?" Her wide eyes skimmed across his bare chest, searching.

"Nothing," Draco spat, standing abruptly. He yanked his shirt back up around his shoulders. "I'm going to bed, long day tomorrow," he said distractedly as he sped to the dormitory staircase.

"Draco?" Pansy swiveled to watch him disappear. She sighed heavily, blew her hair out of her eyes, and picked up Draco's copy of Advanced Potion Making.


End file.
